


kandosii sa ka'rta

by picklebridge



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: 212th Attack Battalion - Freeform, 501st Legion - Freeform, Battle of Kamino, Battle of Ryloth, Brotherly Bonding, Episode: s02e10 The Deserter, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Planet Saleucami (Star Wars), Sibling Bonding, no clonecest, the clones are mando in this house
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picklebridge/pseuds/picklebridge
Summary: Clones are brothers as much as they are soldiers; they share everything from their graves to their blood, from their DNA to the blaster callouses on their palms. War stops for no-one, but between the crushing wheels of the GAR, the vode find peaceful moments and snatches of joy.-A series of little one-shots based on a set of 100 prompts. The prompt and specific characters used in each chapter are mentioned in the drop down menu!
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & CT-7567 | Rex, CT-21-0408 | Echo & CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555, Gearshift & Wooley, Trapper & Crys
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	1. Abilities - The 212th

**Author's Note:**

> Work title is from the song Vode An from the Republic Commando game, and apparently translates as "One indomnitable heart". 
> 
> The prompt list I'm working from is [here](https://theunamazingauthor.tumblr.com/post/168975546099/100-one-word-writing-prompts)
> 
> If you'd like to come say hi, here's my [tumblr](https://alderaani.tumblr.com)
> 
> Prompt for the first chapter is 'Abilities'.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Ryloth has been a success, but Wooley is still on a mission to get a better ration bar. He might have bitten off more than he can chew.

Wooley crossed his feet in front of him and sighed as he checked the label on his ration bar.According to the COMOs there was a blockade near one of the hyperspace lanes stopping any supplies coming through, but knowing the reason for it didn’t make eating ‘Bantha Stew’ for the sixth rotation in a row any easier. It hadn’t been so bad before he’d known what the real thing was supposed to taste like, but now he couldn’t quite look past the artificial tang that always sat in the back of his throat.

“Oi, Gearshift?” he called out, squinting against the bright Rylothi sun to where his _vod_ was lazing in the shadow of a ruined wall a scant meter away, his bucket propped up on a brick next to him.

Gearshift twitched a little but didn’t respond. Wooley waited for several courteous seconds, then sighed again when his _ori’vod_ carried on lying there.

“’Shift?” Still nothing. “ _Shift_.”

When Gearshift just grunted and snuffled a bit, Wooley rolled his eyes.

“Hey, _utreekov_!”

“Kriffin’ hells, _what_?” Gearshift lifted his elbow just enough to glare at him.

“You got any ration bars that aren’t bantha flavoured?”

Gearshift groaned. “Did you seriously wake me up just to ask that?”

Wooley nudged him with his foot. “Well? Do you?”

Gearshift let his arm fall to the ground and shuffled onto his side, sitting up with a curse that would have made Wooley blush less than a year ago. Becoming a prisoner of war had beaten a lot of things out of him, though, so when his _ori’vod_ glared at him he just stared back expectantly.

“And why would I just give it to you if I did?”

“Because I saved your _shebs_ out there today?”

Gearshift spluttered, suddenly looking far more awake. “The kriff you did. Longshot, you hearin’ this _osik_?”

He drove his elbow into the brother next to him as he spoke and Longshot grunted, his voice muffled by his bed roll.

“I’m trying _not_ to. Either give him the ration bar or tell him to shut up, we’ve only got three hours until the shift change, and if you two keep me awake you won’t live that long.”

United for a second, Wooley exchanged an amused look with ‘Shift over their _vod’s_ head. Then ‘Shift got a devious look on his face that Wooley instantly knew was bad news.

“I’ll tell you what, Wooley. You think you’re so good, prove it. See that droid head over there? You outshoot Longshot and I’ll give you my ration bar.”

Both Wooley and Longshot groaned in unison, Wooley out of pure despair. Longshot’s name was not interpretive or ironic – it really did mean what it said on the tin. How in Sith-hells was he supposed to outshoot Ghost Company’s best sniper?

“Did you not hear what I just said?” Longshot growled, flipping onto his back and squinting angrily into the late afternoon sunshine. “What part of _I will end you_ didn’t sink in?”

Gearshift just grinned smugly. “If you don’t think you can manage it, just say so. We’re all brothers here, right?”

There was a momentary pause before Longshot was sitting up, throwing a fist into Gearshift’s gut as he did so.

“Maybe next time I’m on covering fire I’ll just let the droids shoot you,” he grumbled, knuckling at his eyes. “What are we aiming for?”

“Hey,” Wooley cut in nervously. “I never actually agreed to this.”

“Aw kid, you’re not gonna back out now, are you?”

Wooley wilted at the new voice, turning his head to see Boil and Waxer’s heads poking up from the other side of the rubble he’d been leaning on. Waxer at least looked a little sympathetic, but amusement far outweighed that as Longshot started stretching his arms out, yawning grumpily the whole time.

“Alright, fine,” he muttered, glaring at Gearshift. “That ration bar better be good.”

Gearshift’s smile was all teeth, his voice still slightly breathless after Longshot’s hit. “Oh, it is, _vod’ika_.”

Boil got to his feet and meandered over to the smoking pile of droid remains that they’d gathered in the main square of Nabat, finding the droid head that ‘Shift had chosen and sticking it upright in the dirt. Its little dull eyes felt like they were staring at Wooley as he fidgeted restlessly and the others discussed terms.

As Boil came back Wooley started getting into position. They’d decided on using their standard DC-17s so that they were on a level playing field, so he checked the safety and the ammo, his body settling into a long-conditioned rhythm. Then Boil swore, and Wooley looked up in time to see an armoured leg retract behind another pile of rubble as Boil flailed.

Commander Cody sat up slowly, plunging the rest of them into immediate silence. Wooley froze in the act of sighting his weapon, feeling more than hearing the others do the same. Waking their _ori’vod_ was about as dangerous as kicking a nest of gundarks.

“Explain,” he said, his voice gravelly with sleep and drier than the deserts of Jakku.

“Just a friendly bit of competition, sir! Sorry, sir.”

Cody lifted up the lip of his bucket long enough to squint between the droid head and Wooley’s half-drawn blaster. There was a pause as he inevitably calculated the risks involved and whether he could be arsed to do anything about then. Eventually he just shook his head and took his bucket off, clambering to his feet and yawning with enough force that his jaw cracked.

He came to stand in front of them at parade rest, looking exactly like he did at the start of briefings. Wooley had started to get a very bad feeling about this.

“Alright men, lay out the stakes for me. If we’re going to measure your abilities we’re going to do it properly…”

(When it turns out that Gearshift’s ration bar is also Bantha Stew flavour, half an hour, one broken blaster and two lots of latrine duty later, Wooley throws it in his face. 

It’s a dead shot. 

His brother deserves it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooley is the 212th's resident younger brother, no you can't change my mind. Cody's just there like 'why fix things when you can make them worse' and I respect that.


	2. Bright - Fives & Echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Battle of Kamino, Fives and Echo have a few moments to themselves. It's a quiet homecoming.

“Hey,” Echo said, staring down into the ghostly white of Archive. “Who d’you think they’ll get to sort this out?”

_Who will the Kaminoans force to clean this now that 99 is gone?_

Fives heard the unspoken bits that Echo couldn’t bring himself to voice and clenched his hands into fists against the railing. His palm was still smarting with the phantom weight of Hevy’s medal, still warm when he’d pinned it into the underside of 99’s tunic, so that nobody could take it away while they were processing the dead.

The familiar stark brightness of the facility was marred by smoke and blaster fire, the once pristine walls dented and charred. Fives didn’t know how to feel when he looked at the pockmarked durasteel, backlit by the clinical lights. The long-necks and their world were so untouchable in his memory, his brothers the only pinpricks of colour in a bleached, toneless sea. It felt…uncomfortable, he supposed, to see that illusion so messily destroyed.

It didn’t quite hurt, because the only kindness he’d ever been shown in these halls was what his brothers had given him, and brotherhood was a thing you carried with you. They had never been made to feel welcome here; they were born outside of any womb and so they had grown, knowing always that they were meant for systems beyond these shores. But Kamino was a before, a place that every brother knew – the simple facts of white wide halls and the noise of a pod hatch sliding shut were touch stones that joined them all. In the face of that defilement, it was hard to see the Battle of Kamino as a victory.

“Does it matter? The long necks won’t get their hands dirty,” Fives said, scrubbing a hand over his bucket-flat hair.

Echo sighed softly, and Fives knew without looking that he was rolling his eyes.

“I never thought they would, _di’kut_.” He paused for a second, then said, voice quiet. “Feels weird, don’t it? Coming back here alone?”

Fives shut his eyes. It was funny, really, to think that he and Echo hadn’t actually been that close until the aftermath of Rishi. Droidbait had always been his partner when they were growing, whether it was in the metaphorical sparring rings or the physical. Echo had always been too uptight, too rigid, and Fives had never known when to shut his mouth and let it go. He still didn’t, but it was more pointed now, and somewhere along the way Echo had learned to use the regs manual like a shield instead of chains. They’d grown together to fit around their missing pieces, and he hated the realisation that he couldn’t picture the others standing here any more. He’d forgotten the sensation of being a gear in a machine instead of one half of a whole, and right now it felt like the rest of Domino had marched very, very far away.

“Yeah,” he rasped eventually, rapping his knuckles against Echo’s gauntlet. “Makes me feel like I’m late for drills or somethin’.”

Fives felt Echo shift at his side and winced. It had been a long time since he’d been able to hide something from him, so he wasn’t entirely sure why he still bothered. It never stopped Echo from talking about it anyway.

“Do you remember the time we snuck in here after lights out?” Echo said instead, his voice coloured bright with amusement.

Fives blinked, startled, then snorted. “ _We_ snuck in? If I remember it right you were cryin’ and beggin’ us not to.”

As he spoke he turned to look at his twin, laughing fully at the sour purse to Echo’s lips.

“Still came, didn’t I? Someone had to make sure you fools didn’t get lost.”

“Cutup wanted to look at the lights,” Fives said wistfully, crossing his arms and leaning against the railing. He could still remember his cold toes on the metal sheeting, the dull glow of the terminals in the dark and file chips in their tubes, lit up like thousands of stars.

“I think Droidbait just wanted to break the rules,” Echo laughed. “And Hevy was planning it like a prison break.”

Fives felt his lips curve upwards. He could still remember the feeling of their little sticky hands joined together, Echo’s unpleasantly damp with the angry tears he kept stifling in his sleeve. They’d done it though, and even Echo had played his part, directing them back to their pods with sharp little hissing whispers. The funny thing was, they hadn’t worked so well together again until their final test as cadets. If there was one thing Domino squad were good at, it seemed, it was breaking rules.

“He always did have to take point,” Fives grumbled, but there was no sting in it, just longing. Then he heard a strange scuffling noise from below and tilted his head. “Hey, you hear that?”

Echo went still beside him. “Sounds like a group, multiple footsteps, inbound.”

They stood together in silence, hands hovering over their comms, listening to the scuffling steps get closer. Then there was a high-pitched curse, a sharp giggle, and the sounds of several little voices gasping in horror.

“ _7706 that’s a bad word!_ ”

“ _Can it, Loudmouth, d’you want someone to hear us?”_

“ _I’m sorry, okay? I stubbed my toe.”_

A little huddle of cadets came cautiously into view, fanning out into formation like they were all taught as they came through the shattered slider door. Judging by their sleep tunics, they’d slipped out of their pods in the post-battle chaos, looking for some adventure and glory of their own.

“ _Do you see any droids?”_ One cadetwhispered nervously, still lisping a little. The _vod’ike_ couldn’t have been more than four, all round eyes and fluffy curls. One of them was biting his thumb nervously, hanging a little by the door.

“ _That’s what we came here for, Two-Eight!”_

Fives felt his heart lighten as the little group picked their way nervously through the debris, exclaiming over the shell of a blown droid popper and crowding round to look at a spent plasma cannister from a Z6.

Echo’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. “We should call this in. Their sergeant will be going wild.”

“Yeah,” Fives said softly, leaning against his brother’s shoulder. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the weight of three people guarding his back. “But not yet. Give ‘em a few minutes first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me feeling sad about domino squad until the end of time, literally one of the best arcs in the show because it was actually about the clones.


	3. Revenge - Crys & Trapper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crys' hair colour isn't the sort of thing you choose, but it's definitely something you have to make your own.

Crys stared down at the box in his hands, feeling his stomach turn as he took in the picture on the front: the manic smile on the model’s face, the sickly, almost radioactive tinge to their yellow hair, and the cheap, almost tacky feel to the flimsi.

“Where did you _find_ this?” he croaked, sounding horrified even to his own ears. It was breaking several of the cardinal rules of brotherhood: never show fear, never surrender. There was an excited, gleeful buzz in the air as his brothers hovered around him, poorly stifling laughter.

Trapper grinned, but the edges of it were sharp, like the edges of a trap door. It was the expression he wore when he was on the hunt. Crys had been on the receiving end of it more times than he could count, but this was the first time he’d actually felt afraid.

“A space port just outside the Rishi Maze. Trust me, _vod_ , it’s the good shit.”

Crys turned the box of hair dye over and let out an involuntary noise of alarm. “It’s from the _credit store_ , how good can it be?”

“A bet’s a bet, and you lost,” Trapper reminded him needlessly. Crys was e _xtremely_ aware of the bet, and suspected he would be now for the rest of his life. “If you need any help reaching the back we’re ready and willing. Just shout.”

There was another round of laughter from the brothers busy touching up their own hair in the communal ‘fresher mirror. Crys eyed the way Aster was leaning against the door controls as he swept a wide-toothed through his curls, whistling. When he caught him looking, Aster gave him a jaunty wave. Crys knew that if he so much as stepped towards the door he’d be dogpiled before he could blink.

“Karking hell,” he muttered, ripping open the box and laying out the torture implements on the counter. “You’re one mean bastard, _vod_.”

Trapper smirked, stepping up beside him with his razor in hand. “Just don’t forget your eyebrows.”

As the bleach set in and bright, blistering yellow came rumbling on its heels, Crys stared miserably into the mirror. The bet stipulated he had to keep this for just four weeks. He could do this.

Couldn’t he?

-

When Crys walked into the mess hall the next cycle, there was a rippling wave of silence – the stunned, deafening kind that usually settled after a bomb drop. Crys sighed irritably and headed towards the canteen hatch, Trapper half a step behind. His batch mate snickered into the quiet as Crys lamented the fact it was impossible to eat with a bucket on.

Commander Cody was sat at his usual table, black caf by one elbow, his face smooshed into the table top. At the abrupt silence, Crys watched him peel his cheek from the plastoid surface with a jerk, his bleary eyes scanning the assembled vode for hostiles. Very quickly, his commander found the source of the problem. He stared at Crys; Crys stared back. Then Cody blinked, slow and deliberate, and put his face determinedly back onto the table, narrowly avoiding his mug. It was as good a blessing as could be hoped for.

Blockade was on duty when he reached the hatch, his ladle abandoned, his chin resting in his hands.

“Wow,” he said, seemingly transfixed. “I thought we were against terror tactics in warfare.”

Crys let out a tight, murderous noise. “Two protein cubes and a carton of bantha milk, please.”

Blockade passed him the food without further comment, but as Crys turned to head towards an empty table, _far_ away in the corner, he heard him lean in and whisper to Trapper.

“D’you think he’d glow in the dark?”

“Nah, we checked last night when he went to sleep. The dye _was_ only a credit.”

-

Stood back in front of the same fresher mirror four weeks later, Crys finished towel drying his freshly done hair and grinned ferally as the violent yellow came flopping into view.

He set down the towel and ran his fingers through it, checking for any patches where the colour hadn’t taken, but the dye job was remarkably even. Trapper had been right – it really _was_ the good shit. All his brothers had let him have his peace this time around, leaving him with little laughing comments they’d ‘see him when he’d gotten back to normal’.

When he was satisfied, Crys dumped the empty box into the trash hatch and hummed to himself as he wiped down the counter, unable to supress his laughter whenever he caught sight of his own reflection. It really was an awful colour – lurid and sickly and just the wrong side of yellow that it clashed with the 212th armour horribly. He should have hated it, and he _had_ in the beginning.

But as the weeks had rolled on, he’d realised he actually quite liked being recognised. The hair was something so unmistakable, so wholly his, that now even the nat-born officers knew him by name. Sure, it would have been nice if it had taken something less obnoxious, but Crys knew better than to look a gift-blurrg in the mouth. When people looked at him now, his appearance _demanded_ to be known.

It was a dizzying feeling, terrifying and addicting all at once, and Crys loved getting to say what their collective faces couldn’t; that they were thinking, feeling individuals, who knew their own minds. He knew what the long necks called them in the Senate (meat droids, technology, _property_ ) and the way the politicians bartered over them like they would haggle a speeder repair. It tempered some of that ever-present rage, to look in the mirror and see _someone_ looking back.

But it wasn’t all about the sweeping, existential problems. Crys was a man of emotional depth, he could appreciate the little things, too.

His brothers had been looking forward to the bet being over even more than he had - they were the ones who had to look at him, after all.

So the sounds of disgust echoing round the barracks as he entered them, and the sweeping rush of vengeance in his gut, were two very beautiful things indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love the headcanon that cody sleeps anywhere and everywhere, and is wildly competent but a total disaster man. this chapter was inspired by the clonesandmoans blog on tumblr, because one of the mods hates his hair and it got me thinking lmao. this is very rough and ready but i'm exhausted and this was fun after i was at work all weekend, so it was a nice way to destress.


	4. Jump - 501st, Echo & Fives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fives and Echo are still settling into the rhythm of the 501st following the chaos of Rishi. Sometimes there are quiet moments where the only thing to do is share stories and wait.

The stone echoed. Fives didn’t like it; didn’t like the way it amplified everything from the water dripping overhead to the sound of their tight breathing. It felt heavy, oppressive, casting a darkness so stifling that their headtorches only shone a small way into the gloom. The others were twitchy too, Echo pressing up into his side in a way he only did when he needed comfort. Fives knew without asking that they’d be sharing a bedroll that night, curling up tight like two cadets in a pod. He’d complain like he always did about his brother’s cold feet, but he’d be hanging on just the same. Neither of them were doing very well being underground again. Not after the tunnels of Rishi. Not after Cutup.

Even a small campfire would have gone a long way to soothing him, something just to put some warmth in his bones. He hated the way rock leeched it out of his body, greedily trying to fill its own never-ending well.

“Why d’you think we’re stopping here anyway?” Echo was speaking to Ridge, who was cleaning his blaster in slow, methodical strokes that Fives could tell were to steady his hands more than anything else. “We finished the mission, and there’s no sign of the Seps this far out.”

Ridge shrugged. “It happens a lot when we team up with the 212th, General Kenobi likes to explore, I think. Drives Commander Cody nuts. He said somethin’ about some old Jedi temple here.”

That would explain the old pillars they were camped between, and the creepy statues that always felt like they were watching. When it was lighter Fives had been able to see that they were half covered in moss, worn smooth and impassive with age. In the dark they loomed, just present enough through the black that it felt like they were leaning over his shoulder, the occasional gust of wind settling like breath on the back of his neck.

Knowing that they were Jedi-made should have been a comfort, but General Kenobi had stressed that they stay heavily armed down here, and after what Fives had seen his _own_ general do in combat, he knew better than to assume this place would be harmless. Not to mention that they were kliks away from any known settlement, and the local fauna had already shown itself very willing to take a chunk out of the unsuspecting.

Echo’s armour creaked as he shifted, his hands twisting some old wiring together in his lap. Fives had noticed that he liked fiddling with it in their spare moments, and had taken to collecting pieces himself to slip into Echo’s utility belt.

“Really? I didn’t realise the Jedi came so far out. What he’s looking for?”

Ridge laughed, but it wasn’t unkind. “I dunno, vod’ika, I don’t try to understand Jedi poodoo. You’ll have to ask him yourself. ‘Spect it’ll be dusty though, and trapped to the gills. A word of advice – stick tight to your squad in there.”

Fives let out a breath and glanced nervously over his shoulder at the statues and the maw of the stairs between them, slithering up the rockface into the black. “Traps? Why would they karking trap a _temple_?”

Ridge shrugged. “Fett knows why, but they’re usually a nightmare to get through.”

Nax and Attie had been talking close by, reduced to two ghostly white shapes, but now they broke off and leaned into the little circle of light pooling round their headlamps.

“Aw c’mon Ridge, them Jedi are full of secrets,” Attie said, grinning. “Who knows what weird osik they left behind in here, they wouldn’t want just anyone puttin’ their grubby hands on it. Keeps the wrong people out, right?”

“Oh yeah? That why you keep puttin’ yours on things every time we go in one?”

Attie shrugged, unrepentant. “I’m just bein’ thorough.”

Ridge rolled his eyes. “We’re supposed to _avoid_ the traps, di’kut, not set them off! The generals ain’t gonna thank you if you’re dead in a pit somewhere.”

Fives cast his eyes around, frowning, his spine going stiff. “There’s still a patrol out there. What if they run into somethin’?”

Nax waved him off, stretching lazily. “Ah, don’t worry yourself, rookie. Denal knows better than to step anywhere he shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, worry _about_ yourself,” Attie said, grinning wolfishly. “Who knows, you could be sittin’ right on top of one.”

Fives shifted uncomfortably as Attie chuckled, not faltering even when Nax drove an elbow into his gut.

“Don’t tease the vod’ike,” Nax muttered, never one prone to draw attention to himself if he could help it. “Unless you want me to tell ‘em about the first time _you_ got brought on one of Kenobi’s little ‘research trips’.”

Attie put his hands up in surrender as Ridge laughed and shook his head.

“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that. Didn’t you –“

“Hey,” Attie grumbled. “I’m shutting up. You gotta let me have _some_ reputation, Ridge.”

“It’s too late for that, they’ve already _met_ you –“

There was the sound of a fist colliding with plastoid, then squawks mixed with laughter. After a brief scuffle they all settled back down into silence, and Fives tried to focus on the little intricate wire tangle that Echo was weaving between his hands, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. He found he couldn’t stop his mind wandering, fixating on all those winding tunnels in the dark. The more he thought about it the more he could feel the vast expanse of the rock over their heads, the deep belly of the earth opening beneath them. He tightened his hand over his thigh, just shy of his blaster, and contented himself by drumming his fingers against his armour. It wouldn’t be so bad if only there was _light_ , but the clouds were as dense as ever and the cliff face stole what little might have been left.

Just as he was beginning to relax, he heard something, a slight scuffling right on the edge of hearing.

“What was that?” he asked harshly, closing his hand around his weapon so tightly his knuckles hurt.

“What was what?” Echo stilled instantly apart from a small jolt that Fives knew meant he was tilting his head, listening. The others had all gone quiet too, but after a second Ridge snorted.

“I don’t hear anythin’. Don’t let Attie rattle you, kid.”

Fives made a harsh sound in his throat as the noise came again, closer, followed by the scrape of something against rock.

“I’m tellin’ you, there’s somethin’ _out there_.”

They all paused again for several long seconds, and Fives knew when Echo had also heard the sound, because he went rigid. Fives didn’t breathe, listening to the sound of something dragging itself towards them. All he could think about was the memory of walking down a stone ridge and saying _“watch out for the eels”_ , before hearing his batchmate scream. He curled a hand around Echo’s back, getting ready to shove him to the ground if needs be.

After half a minute Ridge sighed and hauled himself to his feet. “Look, I’ll go check it out, don’t get your armour in a twist.”

Fives watched him disappear into the gloom as the rest of the group muttered, a collection of disembodied voices and floating lights. A moment later there was a loud squeak, the sound of a safety switch flicking off, and then a bright, searing bolt of blue.

Then there was a sizzling sound.

Then there was silence.

“All clear, it was just a rat,” Ridge’s voice called out. “Kriffin’ big one, I’ll give you that, but I don’t think we were in mortal peril. You’re a jumpy batch of shinies, ain’t you?”

Fives felt his chest clench, his face going hot as the rest of the squad laughed. His hand automatically went up to grab the scruff of Echo’s neck before he could start another fight he couldn’t finish. They _weren’t_ a batch, not anymore, just the remnants of one – and therein lay the problem. He could feel his twin practically vibrating next to him.

“Sorry, Ridge. Better to be safe than sorry, right?” His voice was just a little too tight to be believable, but thankfully nobody called him out on it.

Ridge came ambling back and sat himself down, and there was a long stretch of silence before someone spoke again. To Fives’ surprise, this time it was Echo.

“Say, Attie? Tell me more about these temples? They’re all really old, right?”

There were a few groans, Fives’ included, but Attie’s armour ground together as he gamely leant in again. “Think so. General Kenobi said somethin’ about centuries, at least.”

“You know, I think I’ve read about ancient places,” Echo said, which made Fives raise his eyebrows, because Echo usually selected his reading material the same way he liked to approach their missions – directly, and with a clear point. “’Specially abandoned ones. Some people say that dead things sometimes…linger.”

“The hell you talkin’ about, kid?” Ridge asked.

“S’just what I’ve heard,” Fives could feel Echo shrug. “Especially in old Jedi places. Did you know that they used to be in a war with some bad Jedi? Went on for hundreds of years, nearly tore the galaxy apart. Some real bad blood between ‘em. Apparently, that makes for a lotta angry ghosts.”

“Ah, you’re pullin’ our legs,” Attie said with a laugh, but to Fives’ ears it sounded a little strained. He could feel his own skin crawling, but something still felt a little off about the whole situation. It was Echo, he realised after a moment; the ramrod straight position he was sitting in. He usually only held himself like that when he was sniping and lining up a shot. Where was he going with this?

“I’m only passin’ on what I’ve read.” Echo said. “Was real interestin’ though. The temples have always been worst for it, ‘cause they used to get attacked all the time by bad Jedi. Every time someone died it left an imprint in the force, and sometimes you can see ‘em standin’ there still, like they were in the seconds before they got cut down. Sometimes they even scream. One account said some guy went scavengin’ and felt like someone was followin’ him the whole time. He wasn’t sure at first...but then his torch kept goin’ out. He replaced the charge: same thing. So then all he had was candle light, and it kept gutterin’ as he moved from room to room, like someone kept breathin’ on it. Could’ve just been the wind right? But here’s the thing – there wasn’t any.”

As if summoned, there was a sudden gust of air through the narrow ravine they were camped in. Fives heard a shiver ripple through their seated brothers, a clattering of plastoid.

“Then,” Echo continued, his voice hushed. “As he tried to look for the vault, he swore he could hear voices, muffled like they were just around the corner. He called, and he called, and told them to show themselves, but there was no answer. Just the slow, creepin’ knowledge that he was bein’ followed, and that it weren’t friendly. As he made his way through to the old vaults the feelin’ got stronger, and stronger. Doors kept slammin’ shut, and things kept trippin’ him, pullin’ on his clothes. He thought about turnin’ back – but he was _so close_.”

Echo paused, letting his words hang in the air for several long seconds.

“An’ then what?” Nax asked, his voice a little breathless.

“Nobody knows. The rest of his travellin’ group had waited outside, and according to them, all they heard was his scream. And when they went into the temple to find him, he was curled up dead by the entrance, stone cold to the touch. Like he’d been there for hours. No mark on him, no blood, just a look of terror on his face and some words at the bottom of his notes, not written in his own hand: get out.”

Echo lapsed into silence, and this time it was permeating. Attie sucked in a breath, deafening in the quiet.

“That’s a whole lotta _osik_ , vod.”

“Maybe. But General Kenobi wants us armed in there, you said it yourself. You ever wondered why?”

More silence, but in it, Fives could pick out the sounds of people’s fingers tapping on armour, the sounds of sharp breathing and rustles as they shifted. Echo had rattled ‘em, good and proper.

“Hey, what was that?” Someone’s voice whispered suddenly. “I – I can hear footsteps.”

Fives could hear it too, a rhythmical beat that was getting closer.

“W-Who’s there?” Ridge barked, getting to his feet with one hand on his blaster. When there was no answer, there was a resounding sea of clicking as the others all copied him. “Show yourself!”

“Easy _vod_ , it’s just us!”

Ridge cursed as the patrol came into view around the corner, flooding their seated brothers with light. Denal was at point and took off his helmet, shaking his head in mystification as several clones put their blasters away and sank down with a groan.

“It’s quiet as the grave out there, the hell’s got you spooked?”

As Ridge fumbled for an explanation, Fives felt Echo start shaking next to him, and with a jolt realised that he was _laughing._ Honestly, he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“You made all of that up, didn’t you?” Fives breathed, feeling a grin spread over his face. “You kriffin’ liar.”

Echo laughed softly in the dark, just the edge of his smile illuminated by his torch. He knocked their shoulders gently together, satisfied by a job well done.

“Hey, it’s not my fault they’re a jumpy batch of shinies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Fives won't let Echo fight with his fists, he'll turn to psychological warfare instead. I love the headcanon that he's sneaky trouble and in this he was like "I'M the only one that gets to make fun of Fives". Love that for him.
> 
> This was a lil fic for Halloween this year! Hope you all liked it! I just can't stop myself from being sad about Domino Squad all the damn time, so it sneaks its way in here. It always makes me ??? when I watch the Rookies episode back and they're like just like 'poor Cutup, sucks man' when he gets brutally eaten by a huge eel, like, that surely would have had more of an impact.


	5. Family - Rex & Cody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rex wakes up after leaving Saleucami to find Cody at his bedside, and has to grapple with meeting Cut Lawquane and what it means to be a clone.

The medbay lights were low when Rex woke. He knew where he was even before he opened his eyes, lulled by the ever-present rumble of the engines and the sharp smell of antiseptic. And sure enough, the Resolute took gentle shape around him, turning from smear to ship once he’d blinked the sleep away. His eyes always felt dry and sensitive after sedatives, painfully tight around the edges. For a moment he lay perfectly still, letting the galaxy trickle back in, sense by sense.

The bleep of a monitor, the stiff, starched edges of the sheet tucked up round his body. A warm, solid weight wrapped around his hand, the rumbling sound of someone snoring, the unnatural dryness of his mouth and the lingering taste of bacta on his tongue.

He looked down, then smothered a laugh. Cody was crumpled like discarded flimsi in a chair next to his bed, hunched so that his head and upper shoulders were wedged close to Rex’s thigh over the blankets. His nose was scrunched with sleep, the force of his soft snores dislodging the curls on his forehead with each puff of air. He still smelt like blaster residue and dust, and his cheek had left dark smudges on the sheet. There was a discarded datapad next to his head, glowing with soft blue light as it announced the arrival of several new messages. His hand was the heavy weight that Rex could feel, wound tight around his own. Cody had split his knuckles again, the skin around the thin cuts raised and puffy and glistening with freshly applied bacta.

Rex wasn’t sure when he’d gotten here, but it couldn’t have been too long, or someone would have bullied his brother into at least hitting the freshers.

He couldn’t remember making it to the rendezvous, the memories buried somewhere under the jarring bolts of pain from his chest and the way his arm stung like a nest of hornets as the nerves healed. Telling General Kenobi that he’d been on the mend hadn’t been a lie, per se, but even Rex could admit that he’d perhaps been stretching things. It was at least reassuring to know that he’d not fallen off his eopie and collapsed in some unremarkable patch of Saleucami’s farmland.

Rex stared around the familiar bay, struggling with the rush of relief and discomfiture that spread through his body. Nothing was out of place here; he could look around and know exactly what to expect, from the barracks to the bridge. He wanted to let it settle him the way it usually did, to let relief seep into his bones at another mission fought and – well, not won, but survived. This time it wouldn’t quite come.

It wasn’t because he’d been injured. That had happened more times than he had fingers. Maybe it was because The Resolute was the closest thing to a home that he had…and for the first time in his short life, he couldn’t help but find it a little lacking. He’d come back. That much was true, and he was glad of it. But there was some part of him that was still stranded on that farm on Saleucami, rooted there in the sound of children’s laughter and the humming of insects in the fields. He could still feel the pale sun beating down on his face, taste the sharp wind on his tongue, and was surprised to find it bound up in a small ache in his chest.

The blaster bolt would scar. So would this feeling. But neither would ever fully go away.

When Rex had told Cut that he’d never really thought about the names they gave each other, the individuality it bestowed upon each clone, he’d been telling the truth. It had simply never been a priority beyond a fleeting thought. There were always more important things to think about; they all knew that each brother was different, beyond name, station, hair colour or designation. To clones, those distinctions they chose for themselves were sacred. And that had always been enough, until now. The sight of one of their own framed in a farm-house door, children round his feet and a whole world under them…the possibility of it sat irreversibly inside him, a Pandora’s Box he’d never known could be opened.

Maybe he’d never thought about it before – but on some level now he always would.

That terrified him.

“Rex’ika?”

The fingers around his palm flexed, dragging him back to the present.

He glanced down to see Cody’s eyes fixed on his face, puffy but alert, his cheek creased where the sheets had pressed into them. His _ori’vod_ jerked frantically into motion, pushing upright with a groan. Rex didn’t even have time to speak before Cody’s fist was colliding lightly with his shoulder.

“The kriff d’you let yourself get shot for?”

“Good to see you too, _vod_ ,” Rex grumbled, rotating his shoulder for show then actively wincing when the motion sent streaks of pain skittering from the crater in his chest.

He knew that Cody had seen it, because instantly his hand pushed him back firmly into the pillows, like if he didn’t hold him still Rex was going to try and escape somewhere.

“I’m alright,” he said after a moment, patting Cody’s hand a couple of times before his brother deemed fit to let go of him.

“Oh yeah? Because five hours ago you said that and then fell flat on your face.”

Rex grimaced. He couldn’t refute the claim because he didn’t know any better, and sadly from the bits of the journey he could recall, collapsing at the end of it was a distinct possibility. There was a familiar pinch between Cody’s eyebrows as he hovered, ready to manhandle Rex again if he felt it necessary. It was an expression that Rex knew intimately, because it only appeared when he’d worried him.

He’d been a scrappy cadet; never allowed anonymity because of his hair, defiance and recklessness had been a kind of defence mechanism. If he was going to be singled out, he could at least control the way it happened. The fourth time he’d been made to run so many laps that he vomited, he’d looked up, panting, to see Cody’s pinched face staring back. The commanding batches were only meant to supervise the punishments of the younger levels, but Cody had reached out a hand anyway and hauled Rex to his feet. He’d been the one to teach him that there were better ways to make himself untouchable.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Rex said, swiping his tongue over his dry bottom lip. “Tastes like Kix gave me the good stuff.”

Cody rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching into something fond. “He’s gonna kick your _shebs_ , and I’m gonna let him. You should’ve seen his face when the General said you were on your way. The hells were you thinking, _di’kut_? We could’ve sent an escort.”

Rex felt his answering grin slide off his face at the thought, uncertainty settling back into his belly like lead. An escort would have had to come to the farm, and in turn would have seen the deserter. Some not insignificant part of him felt almost affronted at what Cut had done, even as he didn’t regret keeping his secret. It ground against what they’d been taught about themselves, against what had been built into their DNA. It didn’t matter whether they liked war the same way it didn’t matter whether they liked the colour of their eyes. It was what it was.

But Rex could comprehend turning his back on that, even if he didn’t understand. What was harder to fathom, with Cody’s hand anchoring his own, palm sweaty with relief that his _ori’vod_ wouldn’t voice, was being alone. The idea of saying ‘family’ and not meaning a face just like his own. The thought of being cut off from the _vode_ , from the invisible threads of brotherhood that transcended them all…it was an alien thing, sharp and unpleasant.

“It was for the best,” he said to Cody, a beat too slowly. “The farmer who put me up…he wasn’t the friendliest sort.”

Cody’s gaze sharpened. “Anti-clone?”

Rex very nearly laughed. “No, just the over-cautious type. He didn’t want the war on his doorstep.”

Cody paused for one very long moment, surveying Rex with eyes that always unearthed everything he wanted to hide. He would have been more worried, had he not been quite confident that Cut Lawquane was unpredictable.

“Then why are there hand-print bruises on your neck, Rex?”

Reflexively, Rex reached for his throat, running his fingers gingerly over the puffy skin. He hadn’t realised that they were there, but immediately the sensation of dangling by his throat came back to him.

“I got throttled by a commando droid, that’s why. Turns out the farmer didn’t get a whole lotta say about some landin’ in his field. We handled it.”

Cody swore, his hand tightening around Rex’s again. “Just couldn’t miss out on the action, could you _vod’ika_? Gettin’ shot wasn’t enough?”

Rex grinned, shrugging a little. “How else am I gonna give you grey hairs? Me ‘n Wolffe have still got that bet going about which marshal commander it’ll be first, you or Fox. And I’ve gotta make up for the whole Senate somehow.”

“Unbelievable,” Cody growled, shoving Rex’s hand away and running a hand over his head. “Throwing the odds is illegal, _Chakaar_. What did he wager? Corellian whiskey? Koon always sneaks him the best shit.”

Rex snorted, wrinkling his nose. “Hardly. As if I’d risk my _shebs_ for a drink, Kote, it’s for the _glory._ ”

Cody leaned back in his chair, face still a picture of outrage. Rex knew that in any other scenario he’d have already been in a headlock, and grinned smugly at the fact he was currently untouchable.

“Yeah, well, next time you don’t hafta try so hard,” Cody muttered. “Or you’ll bypass grey hairs and push me straight to heart attack.”

“That still counts as a win.”

Rex knew he fully deserved the punch that Cody landed on his leg, covering his mouth to muffle the laugh that wanted to burst out of him. The rest of the bay was surprisingly quiet, the lighting low and soft. The vast majority of the beds were empty, the few other occupants sound in either natural or induced sleep. Cody probably should have gone to alert the on-duty medic that he’d woken up, but instead the silence lapsed on between them, Cody’s eyes crinkling soft at the corners again in that unguarded way that Rex missed from their youth.

After a moment Cody’s pad chirped from between the disturbed sheets, a gratingly cheerful sound that never heralded anything good. Rex watched his brother sigh and pick up the offending item, scrolling and clicking through notices as the tension crept back into his face. Cody had always been like that – ruthlessly efficient, wickedly shrewd, a ship against which the rest of them could weather all storms. Any clone who’d ever met him knew what class he was destined to go into, and when he’d been promoted, the only person who’d been surprised was Cody himself.

There was a pride in that, Rex reflected; to excel so thoroughly at the purpose for which you’d been made. But there was no choice in it either, and it was an odd thing, to look at Cody for the first time and find it a little jarring that he couldn’t picture him as anything else.

“What? Have I got something on my face?” Cody had looked up from his datapad with one eyebrow raised. Then he sighed again, jabbing at the screen grumpily. “I swear Bly waits until it’s my night cycle to send me forms on purpose.”

Rex watched him type for a few more seconds, then looked down at his hands.

“Have _you_ ever thought about the end of the war?”

There was a long pause, hanging stunned in the air between them. Rex twisted his fingers together then looked up, feeling oddly vulnerable. Cody’s brow was lifted in a rare moment of unguarded surprise, before his eyes narrowed, searching Rex’s face.

“…no, I suppose I haven’t,” he said eventually. “General Kenobi theorises that it’ll hinge on –“

“No, I meant – have you ever thought about what we’ll do _after_.” Rex said softly.

Cody blinked a few times then leant back in his chair.

“ _After_?” The word curled uncertainly off his tongue, an awkward shape in his mouth. “Don’t you think we’ve gotta win the damn thing first, Rex’ika?”

Rex shrugged, feeling his shoulders creep up round his ears the way they always did when he was nervous. The words almost stuck in his throat, scraping raw as he pushed them out, unformed and fledgeling.

“Yeah, of course. But…all the same. For some of us there will be an after. Commander Tano talks about it sometimes – getting back to all the things she did before.”

That did make Cody smile, a little fleeting thing. “General Kenobi does too. He had to put all his plants in the Temple gardens, says he misses them.”

“Have you ever thought about going with them?”

Cody’s eyebrows jumped again, a rare, blank look on his face that made Rex feel better and worse all at the same time. “Can’t think why the Jedi would need clones around in their Temple. What’s this really about, Rex?”

Rex let out a breath, a long gusting sigh that peeled out of his ribcage, and fixed his eyes back on the ceiling. “Staying with that farmer…eating at his table, sharing his food. Talking to his kids…it just made me wonder, you know? What that might be like.”

Cody snorted, but his eyes were impossibly warm as he scrubbed a knuckle over Rex’s short blond hair. “You? A farmer? Didn’t you kill the plant Kenobi got Skywalker for his lifeday?”

Rex batted him away. “That thing was already dead when he brought it to me. And to be honest, the eopie they lent me stank. But…his kids were cute. Real big eyes, you know?”

The corner of Cody’s mouth had ticked up again as he settled himself back down with his datapad. “Tano and Skywalker not kids enough for you?”

He ducked the fist Rex shoved his way, chuckling, and they settled back into a docile quiet, Cody confused, and Rex unsure how else to put his feelings into words. How it wasn’t just the farmer, or the kids, or the land. Just the new, frightening possibility that one day they might be his to take. Rex felt the drowsiness creep back in on him, cresting and falling in a wave. He didn’t fight it, twisting down into the sheets and letting the soft tapping of Cody’s fingers on glass lull him on. When he reached the precipice of sleep, hovering somewhere above a dream, he felt his brother’s hand squeeze his one more time, then heard him speak.

“I guess I never have thought about it, _vod_. But you’re right. Maybe it does sound nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how do u do the complex topic of clones and personhood justice...........def not certain that it did it here, but i just could not look at this prompt any more, so here it is. i get so emotional watching the deserter and seeing just how QUICKLY rex starts referring to protecting his own, hypothetical children. and just like, the whole concept of the clones + the future in general. to have your whole existence be for the purpose of be one war...how would you even have the concept of an after?


End file.
